


The Fire Pit

by Aymeric (Sterla)



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: 'i know', AU, Alternate Universe, Hamadacest - Freeform, I apologize in advance, M/M, Strippers, also this is my first hidashi so, and dashi's like, basically this is just in which hiro is like 'gdi dashi ur too perfect', hidashi, hitrashi, i am trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterla/pseuds/Aymeric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiro Hamada was, without a doubt, the best dancer in The Fire Pit, a male strip club located deep in the heart of San Fransokyo. He was nimble, well-toned for being in his early twenties, and undeniably seductive to anyone in the room with him, whether he was looking their way or not. Hiro was popular. Sexy. Irresistible. Until Tadashi Henney had to show up with his stupid perfect body and his stupid perfect hair and his stupid perfect butt and ruin everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What a Stupid, Perfect Butt

**Author's Note:**

> (Just a side note -- in this fic, Hiro and Tadashi aren't related, and they're both around the same age, early 20s or so.)

_Push me_

_And then just touch me_

_Till I can get my_

_Satisfaction, satisfaction. . ._

Hiro could feel the drum of a heavy beat pulse through the swing of his hips and the step of his walk, letting his hips brush down low and sweep his ankles as he waltzed along the black marble bar top, his hands tangled somewhere above his head in a mess of black hair. Even though the counter was thin for a strip club and littered with half-swigged drinks and crumpled dollar bills, he weaved his way through them with a practiced ease, never losing perfect rhythm. When Hiro danced, he was the music; his feet the bass as he strutted and swayed, his wrists the treble as he unbuttoned and tugged and caressed under chins, his eyes and lips and hips the words as he made contact with everyone nearby. When Hiro danced, people would’ve sworn that even in a room of 2000, they were with him and him alone.

Until, that is, the point that Tadashi Henney entered it.

God, Hiro hated Henney -- the way he stole all of the attention away when he was under the spotlight, the way his muscles tensed so perfectly when he moved, the way his ass swung _too_ perfectly back and forth in time to his rhythm, so round and soft and thick...it was stupid. _He_ was stupid, and Hiro had had enough of it.

Even sweat seemed to only give that ridiculous hair of his more texture, to make those eyes shine brighter, to outline more perfectly the curve of his favorite pair of lace-trimmed women’s panties. And the worst part was, he was completely oblivious to every single method of his torture.

When Hiro danced, he became the music.

When Tadashi danced, he became the club.

He was so effortless, so graceful, so goddamned perfect. He didn’t even have to try to seduce any of his customers, not by much: as soon as he stepped out and angled his hips to the side, people were panting at his feet. And don’t get anything wrong, Hiro could definitely see why -- those dark brown eyes like warm velvet, that smile like hot chocolate with a kick of spice, and especially those deep cherry _platform heels_ he liked to wear out sometimes...it was almost too much. ...For the customers, of course. Yes, the customers.

Henney took everything from him. His clients, his attention, his income... Hiro decided that tonight, this would be the last straw. A final fight to make an important decision: who was the better stripper, once and for all.

He had checked the backstage schedule before coming out for his shift: Henney was set to come out at 10:15. Hiro had a scheduled break from 10:10 to 10:20. This was almost _too_ easy.

He took a quick glance at the sleek black clock mounted on the wall opposite the bar. 10:05. Five more minutes just to torture the swooning crowd at his feet, and then it’d really be time to get a show started. And it seemed like those five minutes lasted much longer than he could remember, dripping by as slow as lukewarm molasses out of a stone cold bottle.

When Hiro was finally able to snatch his discarded leather shorts, studded vest, and police cap to head through the smoke and veils of perfume to a shared dressing room backstage, giving stray winks and fleeting touches to previous and more current customers as he weaved through, his searing smirk alone would’ve been more than enough to engulf an entire building in flames.

\- - - - - - 

Tadashi Henney loved his job. Not just because he already knew that he was damn good at it, or that he got paid damn good money, but because it was _fun_. _As_. _Hell_. He loved the way that the customers looked at him, loved the way that the lights hit his skin in the club, loved how the music flowed through his body, loved that he could wear whatever he wanted, and he loved that he didn’t even have to bother _trying_ to make it look amazing, whether it was on his body or on the floor. But what he loved most about job was working with Hiro Hamada.

Even though Hiro was a year or so younger than Tadashi, it certainly wasn’t hard to see that the boy had as much talent as he did, if not -- by Tadashi’s standards, at least -- a little bit more. There was something about the way that he ran his hands along that slender body, about the way that those hips could roll, about the way that tall socks hugged those round thighs of his, that just genuinely got people _going_ , Tadashi included. He almost found it too hard to focus on his own show when Hiro was in the same room.

Tonight, as he peered at a schedule pinned to a plush velvet message board, Tadashi wasn’t particularly sure if he was relieved or disappointed to find that Hiro had a ten minute break practically right when his shift began. On one hand, it would give him plenty of time to get a good routine started; on the other, it meant he would have less of a view when he stepped out onto his designated stage for the hour. But there was no time for such contemplation now: he had a spectacle to prepare for.

He wasn’t wearing his favorite outfit tonight, even though he was working with Hiro: a simple teacher style get-up, with a little bit of his own flair hiding underneath. But of course, he still did look _damn_ hot in it. His white button-up was just a little too small, tight on his arms and pecs in all the right places, but not enough to constrict him as he moved, held close to his skin by a pair of thin black suspenders. His pants were secure on the ass but loose enough to allow for a good amount of swing, pitch black to match the suspenders hooked onto their waistband. He’d added a thinly framed pair of carmine glasses to match the look, because lord knows they made his eyelashes look heavenly. But it was what was underneath that mattered the most, wasn’t it? He’d gone for a simple kind of sexy, with long, thin thigh-highs trimmed in midnight lace and red ribbon, held high by long, silky black garters, a belt sitting just at his waist. As for underwear, he took to a usual -- women’s, stitched with a cross-hatching of red ribbons latched onto thin lace, holding a more simple tight black fabric over his abdomen. It was definitely a preference among the customers (and, from whatever he could gather from a considerable amount of staring, Hiro), even if it wasn't one of his.

He mussed with his hair for a moment or two before heading out of the dressing room, trying to make it look wind-tousled and maybe just a bit sexed up, rather than a messy tangle of ebony locks. Once it looked good enough to belong on the cover of a high-action sports magazine, he was satisfied.

He always forgot just how clear and serene his room was compared to the air of the actual club until the moment that thick rosewood incense with a hint of ginseng hit his nostrils. (He had asked a friend of his, Honey Lemon, about the ginseng part once. He thought it was a bit strange -- she clarified for him that ginseng is an acclaimed aphrodisiac). The whole club was rather dimly lit, with the exception of the counter tops and strips and tables that the dancers took as stages, that is. It was all done in chic creams and luxurious obsidians and almost celestial deep maroons with charcoal and mahogany-brown accents laying somewhere underneath, giving the whole facility an almost illusionary quality to it. Customers often remarked that it was like being caught in a lucid dream; incense curling around gorgeous individuals as they're hit by the ivory lights, the distant pounding of the drum of your heart in sync with the music pumping from round speakers hidden in the walls, the intoxication that suffocated your mind at the smallest of touches from any of the dancers employed. “No wonder ’s called ‘The Fire Pit’,” one of his clients had mused half-mindedly to him, “the drinks burn like smooth fire down yer throat and every one of ya here ’s like an incubus, toyin' wi’ me all night long....”

As he walked through the rosewood mists to wait for his stage to be open, Tadashi caught sight of Hiro’s dressing room door down the hallway. He took a moment to think pensively, and then proceeded to undo another button or two on his crisp white dress shirt and fold his sleeves up past his elbows. Upping the competition certainly couldn’t hurt.

He took a wild glance at the clock. 10:14. Time to go.


	2. I'm Hellbent, Baby

Coincidences really do have a peculiar way of working. They vary rather dramatically in nature, twisting and knotting themselves constantly in such a confusing way that you can never quite be sure as to whether they're working with or against your fortune. Everyone has had examples of such instances occur somewhere within their lives: for instance, you may find that on the day you finally decide to just skip your least favorite class, you run into your teacher while you're out on the usual morning coffee run, in an unfavorable situation. However, this may be for the best; the class you're now pressured to attend could end up leading to you finding a new passion for said subject. Such bittersweet coincidences are certainly not uncommon within the natural world.

A place where they would be considered more uncommon, however, is in a strip club. And at the moment, Tadashi Henney considered himself to be caught in possibly the most conflicting coincidence of his life. Even more debatable, however, was whether it was positively the best or absolutely the worst thing to ever happen to him at work.

\- - - - - -

He had gone out to dance, just as usual, all dressed up and ready to make a sizable amount of yen for the night. He made sure to tease the group at his feet for quite a while, though not enough to frustrate them, only ever unbuttoning his shirt in the slightest or slipping his pants down just far enough to showcase a thin line of lace below the dimples that ran down to the full curves of his ass. He was going to save the _real_ show for whenever Hiro finally came back from his break. Was it selfish? Maybe a little. Would the manager mind? Probably. Would Hiro? Oh, _most definitely_. Tadashi knew that without a doubt. However, he was also certain that no matter what, Hiro would be sufficiently and remarkably tortured.

The minutes slid by even slower than Tadashi knew to be possible, and he was near ready to just drop his plan to wait for Hiro. The boy was taking way too long, even for his liking.

But then a particular favorite song (Tadashi might even call it a _specialty_ of his) began to pound against the club's speakers.

_I've been hellbent, baby_

_Hellbent on loving you all day long_

_Hellbent on drugs 'cause they turn you on_

_Dunno what else to do, mmh. . ._

He couldn't help the smirk that began to tug at the corners of his mouth as he changed his dance to fit the pulse of the song, delighted as he lost himself deep in the bass, transferring his current intoxication to all of the eager and hungry clients at his feet. It wasn't hard for him to start mouthing the words as he twisted and swiveled, and his customers couldn't help but feel as if the sultry lyrics were being spoken directly to them.

He was just about to run his fingers back down along his chest, maybe finally free the buttons from their tight binding, when he heard the loud, unmistakable click of heels strutting along the runway behind him in perfect step to the rhythm, and suddenly a loud cheer of hoots and whistles arose from the crowd. Before he could even do so much as count to three, there was suddenly a warm, nimble set of fingers splaying and trailing over his torso, and wait, hadn't his shirt just been buttoned a moment ago?

And then the grip was on his waist, and even though he should've known better, the clients below sure did enjoy that his natural instinct was to let his hips sway back against the groin of his perpetrator, his teeth snagging against the rising curl of his lips once more as he snaked his arms up above his head. Before the intruder was allowed too much fun or any dominance, however, he let himself spin around gracefully in their grasp, arousing a well-earned shout of delight from an ever growing audience as he slid a leg between the individual's thighs to prepare to grind. Then he noticed exactly _whose_ hips he was about to gyrate against. He also realized what they were wearing.

It was Hiro.

And, _fuck_ , did he look _amazing_.

He was nearly Tadashi's height in the black pumps he had slipped into, and dear lord, they had helped to shape his calves in a way that was almost unbelievable. What made those slenderly curved legs look even better, however, was the pleated grey and milky rose plaid miniskirt that was currently riding up against Tadashi's upper thigh. ...And was that _lace_ that he could barely feel hiding just below it?

Tadashi could physically feel his expression twist with the force of his sudden smirk. The kid was playing a damn dirty game tonight, and he was all about it. There was absolutely no way in _hell_ that he would back down from this abrupt challenge, maybe not even if the building were to suddenly be torn apart by forces of gravity unbeknownst to him and pulled violently into an endless portal of sorts. (Well, maybe he would make an exception then -- Tadashi was a rather caring man, and he would certainly try to save as many people as he could in such a situation, stilettos or not. But once everyone was back to safety? Then. Then the Hamada boy would be _his_ ).

He placed one hand strategically against the exposed skin at the small of Hiro's back, letting his gaze lazily wander up the younger's thin (but irresistible) frame as his free hand ran it up, eventually finding the tied hem of his sheer smoky blouse. As he began to tug it free, his hips started to roll just barely against Hiro's, a ghost of real touch against his skin, the boy's own fingers running themselves back down Tadashi's warm chest and through his hair. He took a moment to look up into his partner's coffee eyes, dilated with what he was sure was the sheer thrill of the competition, and the flame of excitement that burned bright within them couldn't have thrilled Tadashi more.

He was rather sure that what they were doing was going far against the protocol of the upper-middle class club. Having two strippers pressed together on the same runway, paying practically undivided attention only to each other, the drooling customers at their heels as insignificant as rocks in the sand. The small voice in the back of his head told him so, and it warned him to be wary of the battle that was undoubtedly about to go down. At the sound of the small boy's voice, low and soft and absolutely _delicious_ in his ear as the song continued and he unthreaded himself from Tadashi's grasp, however, he made the executive decision to ignore the fuck out of said small voice, because holy shit, how could he resist those fleeting touches and _whoa_ was that a _cherry lollipop_ dangling from those fingers?

They began to play a classic game of cat-and-mouse, Hiro leading Tadashi in melodic steps around their small rectangle of a stage, teasing him with small pushes and tugs at various articles of clothing as the latter followed him about, giving him discreet moments of contact to try to tug him back into his grasp. Luckily, they were at the second verse of the song, sung conveniently in the form of a round that they repeated to each other as they weaved alongside one another.

 _"I've been hellbent, baby,"_ Tadashi would start, his arms sliding around Hiro's waist, threatening to push just below his waistband before he was pushed away with the grace of a slender wrist at Hiro's mirrored call.

 _"Since too long, baby."_ He would step in front of Hiro then, and the other would drag his fingers just along Tadashi's jaw before he cut away with a sashay of his hips.

 _"My eyes wide shut...,"_ He'd let Hamada give a theatrical shiver as he slid a hand up along the other's pale thigh, _"And I feel your touch."_

The boy would turn on him suddenly then, pressing a hand flat against his chest as he led him back towards a dark, curtained wall as he growled low, letting Tadashi answer this time. _"Oh, I'll turn you on..."_

Tadashi would give a dark chuckle as he pulled the boy's increasingly warm body against his. _"Mmn, you make me strong..."_

_"Oh, said all I need is, all I need is, all I need is **you**!"_

And they'd both be pressed against each other, Hiro's skirt long abandoned on the floor, his hand next to Tadashi's head against the wall, Dashi's own pants undone at the very least, exposing his outfit beneath and an incredibly obvious, if not extremely rare hard-on to not only his partner, but the screeching audience showering their stage in yen bills just behind them.

The last remaining bits of the song were spent merely torturing each other for as long as they could, and Tadashi wasn't entirely positive as to when his glasses had ended up on Hiro's face, or at what point after dropping to his knees before Tadashi's groin and giving his lollipop a good, long swirl of his tongue and a particularly intimate lick while holding steady eye contact, the candy had found itself instead between _his_ lips. What he did know is that he absolutely loved every second of it, and he had no clue as to how it all could've happened in just about under three minutes.

Once the song had faded away into the atmosphere of the club, however, Hiro merely gave his tortured co-worker a wink and a small salute, only to turn back and away from him in order to leave the stage. Before he did, however, he seemed to remember something, giving a small jump of realization, and bent down to pluck something from what appeared to be an incredibly shallow pocket in his discarded skirt. Without thinking twice, he tucked it into the band of Tadashi's garter belt, all fiery eyes under thick eyelashes and shining red lips slightly swollen from biting and all the attention he'd been giving to his previously owned lollipop. And with that, he wove his way back to eagerly awaiting customers, leaving Tadashi dumbstruck and overwhelmingly satisfied.

\- - - - - -

Later, once his shift was finally over, Tadashi tugged out the folded papery object that Hamada had slipped him and nearly choked on amusement. It was a rather valuable yen dollar bill, with an address scrawled on it and the words _"Coffee, senpai?"_ in slanted handwriting next to a time and date.

It was only after reading the word 'senpai' that it hit Tadashi head-on that Hiro had _deliberately_ coordinated himself to be the quote unquote "schoolgirl" to Dashi's own "teacher" get-up that evening. He had to give the kid more credit for that one, in all honesty.

He chuckled as he tucked the bill into the pocket of his favorite cardigan and started to get dressed in preparation to leave the club, a fond smile to his lips.

This probably wasn't such a "coincidence", after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little over twice as long as the last one, lmao. i have tests to study for. what am i doing with my life.
> 
> but, if any of you guys have any wonderful suggestions for whatever tadashi/hiro should wear or maybe dance to in a later chapter, please feel free to list off some suggestions in the comments! and, for all curious readers, the song this chapter was based on is called hellbent, by mystery skulls. if you haven't listened to it already, then oh my god, you should, because it is damn beautiful.
> 
> ...regardless, thank you so much for reading, and i hope you're enjoying it so far!


End file.
